


Only a Little Death for Now

by LynMars79



Series: Tales of the Seventh Era [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: I don't know how to tag this, I mean it's Zenos, Male Solo, Masturbation, Violent Thoughts, shadowbringers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: There's only one person that truly excites him, those thoughts bringing along the need to sate himself until the inevitable occurs.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Series: Tales of the Seventh Era [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632094
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Only a Little Death for Now

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt: NSFW. Zenos pleasuring himself to the thought of the Warrior of Light beating him in battle_

He walked through the empty palace, heedless of the dark or cold due to the heated singing of his blood.

The Ascian said that _she_ had returned, from wherever it was her adventures had taken her. Surely whatever trials she had faced had left her stronger and more resilient than even during their battle in Ala Mhigo.

He shivered at the memory; battered and bloodied by their battle, hair in disarray, accoutrements tattered and dented, and that _glare_ of sheer defiance, eyes twin sparks of rage.

His breath caught, in time to the memory of her own post-battle panting, her snarl as he had turned to lead her to the gardens for their true battle, the one she had finally been ready for and _oh_ how she had not disappointed him!

His muscles twitched, the tension thickening into a coiled serpent low in his body. He had always been one to listen to his physical needs, to push himself past those limits. This sensation was newer but not unwelcome, only occurring since their clash in the torn fields of Doma, when she had shown such _promise_ , the first kindled hope that finally, _finally_ there was someone as vicious as himself in battle, finally someone able to give him the release he needed and longed to find.

This bodily desire was similar enough to grant a temporary reprieve. He had never had much need before, but now, as the mounting reality of battling her again drew near, he found himself on a balcony, leaning on the icy rail as he unbuttoned his pants to take himself in hand.

He let out a long, low growl, the motion less of a stimulant than imagining her before him once more, battle regalia smeared with the blood and grime of those she cut through to reach him, her weapon still dripping ichor. A frisson rippled through him at the memory of her battle cry, rushing forward to clash with him in a dance older than time as the city from his dreams burned and crumbled around them.

His breath hitched and he nearly dropped his head onto the rail, thinking of her hair whipping as she spun, faster than his blades could strike. How he would push himself against her, testing her ferocity, the bloodlust to match his own. She would score him, again and again, each cut a command to yield, each bruise an edict to submit. The longer he refused, the fiercer her fire _burned_ , until he was scorched by her Light, ripping away the shadows of his reclaimed birthright.

Another growling groan, the sting of sweat in his eyes as the heat of his bloodlust melted the ice and dusting of snow. It was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the flame of their battles, drenching them both as they pushed beyond mortal limits, exerting wills to bend the Star itself in trying to make the other concede, to fall, to complete that final strike, the last stroke.

He threw his head back with a strangled cry, remembering the kiss of his own steel at his throat and oh what a _fool_ he had been! How much sweeter, how much more worthy and final, would it be to have _her_ wield the blade to end him, to give him that sweet release…

He shouted in triumphant defeat as his body complied, vision blanking as he spent himself, frame shuddering as he emerged from his blissful reverie to the crushing mundanity of his surroundings.

Only a little death when he yearned for so much more, had had it within his grasp, and only one other beast was capable of matching him, of sinking her fangs into his jugular and tearing it open.

Of making him feel anything at all.

He idly rebuttoned his pants, subconsciously wiped his hand on the little remaining snow on part of the rail he had not leaned upon. Soon.

Soon he would face her in battle again, and only one of them would survive--the strongest, the most vicious.

He was not quite sure yet what he would be better pleased by; her broken corpse at his feet, or himself broken at hers--or perhaps they would go together, clawing at one other until they both lay in a bed of their mingled lifesblood to end this torturous existence and the only joy found in it.

Yes, that would be the way, he thought as he stepped back into the still halls of the palace. He could not bear the thought of living in a world where his only challenger was gone, nor could he suffer the thought of her strength _wasted_ on lesser enemies after him.

No more small deaths; only the end for them both, as it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally go here, but OK Zenos! @_@
> 
> Randomly inspired by Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club. If you like writing and reading FFXIV fanfic drop on by for a large community of enablers, with a custom Emet bot that will alert you to new fics and deliver them _personally_. <https://discord.gg/BNKgvWH>
> 
> And then the Rat Grandpa will steal your coupons.


End file.
